Monday, December 03, 2007

I smell, I have not shaved in several days, and I've gained approximately five pounds from the junk I've been eating for two weeks, but finals are finally finished. Assuming I pass everything, I am officially 1/2 a lawyer. And now I'm retiring for the evening with a few cocktails and a "Designing Women" marathon on TV Land. Damn, I'm old!

Saturday, December 01, 2007

There's really nothing like finals to get me writing about anything and everything but the law. And no, I don't really hate white people...most of the time. It's just that lately it seems every day I encounter an incident of such monumental asshattery that it makes me want to resign. I would too, if only I could figure out to whom I should give my letter. The British Empire? Strom Thurmond's ghost? Bob Saget? The mind boggles.

So I took a break this evening from the copyrighting of crop circles to go indulge in some tortilla-wrapped deliciousness at Qdoba. With extra guac because I am so far beyond giving a damn that I now outweigh not giving a damn by a good five pounds. The line is long, and I'm passing the time by trying to ignore the deeply dull but entirely normal conversation of the two twenty-something frat guy stereotypes (and face it, I ought to know from stereotypes). I place my order with the really friendly counter guy, who happens to be African American. The boys behind me stop their normal conversation, and apparently at the point of stepping up to order, one of them had his body possessed by Eminem because he proceeded to turn to the counter guy and practically yell, "'sup!" in a manner that convinced me his sidekick was going to start beatboxing. True, boys of all races use that term in greeting. Hip-hop culture is the predominate youth culture. These weren't those kids. This tool changed his accent to greet the black guy, and seemed to think it made him quite cool, like they were having a moment relating to one another right there at the Qdoba. I almost apologized to Nice Counter Guy on behalf of white folks with half a brain.

To his credit, Nice Counter Guy greeted them back with only the most subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice that suggested he was thinking, "You are such a douche that if you were on American Idol, the audience would keep Vanilla Ice and send your ass home." Seriously, white guys who are kind of tool-ish, why do you do that? Why, when you encounter a black man, do you suddenly start acting like an American tourist in France who is trying to get the waiter to practice the phrases they got from the Fast French cassette tape on the plane over? They can understand you just fine the way you normally talk, and don't need for you to show them how down you are. Because in case you didn't know, you're not. Asshole.

I swear, every day I'm more amazed that there hasn't been a gory bloody revolution in this country with people out there acting a fool.